


hearts are not the only fixable things

by glim



Category: Leverage
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Domestic Fluff, Flowers, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Romance, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 02:12:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17840447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: "The thing," Hardison says. Looks at Eliot for another moment, and nods towards the ceiling. "Upstairs. It's broken."





	hearts are not the only fixable things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saxifactumterritum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saxifactumterritum/gifts).



Truth be told, Eliot _likes_ Valentine's Day. 

Not for romance or the true love stuff--that's all crap, and Eliot knows it, he's spent enough Valentine's Days with partners and more than enough on his own to know it. That's why his shop is bursting with all the brightest colors he can find in the middle of winter, not just pink and red; that's why he fills the shop with flowers, with more flowers than he does in the middle of summer, instead of with heart-shaped boxes of chocolates or glitter-encrusted greeting cards stuck to garish stuffed animals. 

He loves the colors and how his tiny corner shop is almost too full of the riot of leaves and petals. Candy and cards, he can leave that to the local drugstore; they need the business anyway. In his own shop, Eliot only wants to be surrounded by endless green stems and lush petals and the hope that winter will wind down in the coming weeks. 

And that-- _that's_ what Eliot loves. That bright spot in the middle of the dreary, long winter days, the burst of color that outshines the dull, grey, midwinter lull. All the January days after New Year's are long and grey and cold, dirty snow and refrozen slush gathering along the sidewalk curbs. But once February starts, he can justify the extravagant burst of greenery and colors. 

The bell on the shop door rings and Eliot looks up from his first cup of morning coffee and crossword. 

Speaking of bright spots... 

Hardison waits until he reaches the counter to say anything. Before he does, however, he taps the tips of his fingers against the glass countertop and watches Eliot drink his coffee for a good five seconds. 

When he realizes Eliot's not going to say anything first, he sighs and gives a deferential, one-shoulder shrug. 

"The thing," Hardison says. Looks at Eliot for another moment, and nods towards the ceiling. "Upstairs. It's broken." 

Eliot takes another sip of coffee and watches Hardison tap the counter top again. The soft, repetitive rhythm is somehow more soothing than annoying. It's familiar. It's Hardison, okay, the guy who lives above the flower shop, who walks down here most mornings to say hello, who sometimes brings coffee, who's standing in front of Eliot in a hat and scarf with his grey knit cardigan over some nerdy tee shirt, even though he only came from upstairs. 

Eliot smiles. "The thing, huh? _Again._ "

"The thing, you know... the switch thing." 

"You didn't try to fix it, did you?" Eliot narrows his eyes when Hardison bites his lip, then smiles again when Hardison sighs and shakes his head. 

"You think I'm stupid? You think I want to deal with what happens when I accidentally shut off the power not only for my own place, but also for: a florist and an accountant? Yeah, no, I didn't even _look_ at it." Hardison holds his hands up with a dismissive gesture, then rests them back on the counter so the tips of his fingers brush warm and brief against Eliot's hand. 

"Good boy," Eliot murmurs. He catches a flicker of something in Hardison's eyes--something bright and shy and way too brief to really see--and smoothes one hand over his paper. "Fine, let me go look at it." 

Hardison waits a moment, then leans against the counter, and that brightness, that light that Eliot never sees anywhere else, flickers in his eyes again and he leans in a little closer. He glances at the crossword, reading it upside down, and makes a quiet little thoughtful sound. 

Then he tips his head to the side and makes it again. 

And _again_ , frustrating and endearing and vaguely condescending all at once. 

The third time, Eliot tugs the crossword away from Hardison and refolds his newspaper before taking off his glasses. 

"Stop it." Eliot takes a pointed sip from his coffee and levels his glare at Hardison over the mug's rim. 

"Did I say anything?" A smile curls around the edge of Hardison's mouth and settles there, like he's way too pleased with himself even though he can't fix his own fucking circuit breaker. 

"You didn't need to." 

God, does he have to smile like that, though? Soft and proud, irritatingly sweet, enough to make Eliot want to curl his palm around the back of Hardison's neck to draw him in close to see if he can feel that smile against his own mouth when they kiss. The thought lingers too long in Eliot's mind and he has to pull away from Hardison lest it show in his own eyes: the neediness, the fondness. 

"C'mon, let me take a look at your electric panel so you can play your half dozen video games simultaneously again." 

"A half dozen? Nobody does that. You know that, right? Eliot?" Hardison sighs as Eliot walks past him, pulling his hair back into a ponytail, and then makes another, more pleased sound when Eliot hands the coffee mug over to him. "Aww, yeah, you're the best. I got my own florist who fixes my electrical box thing and gives me coffee." 

"Yeah, yeah, all that. Come on, Hardison." Eliot waits until he's outside the shop to draw in a deep breath of the sharp, cold, winter air. 

The scent and warmth of the flower shop dissipates behind them as Eliot locks the door and he savors that moment, the one where Hardison rests the palm of his hand against the small of Eliot's back and for a second, that's the only warmth Eliot knows. The damp, cold morning air is a sharp shock to his lungs but there at the small of his back is the steady, strong warmth of Hardison standing behind him, drinking his coffee, then smiling, quick and brief, when Eliot looks over his shoulder. 

"What?" Eliot asks. 

Hardison smiles again, then gives him a little nudge towards the stairs. Halfway up to his apartment, he touches Eliot's back again and says, "TARDIS." 

"What?" Okay, he ends up saying that too much around Hardison. 

"7 Down. TARDIS." 

"Yeah, I know." 

"You did not know." 

"I knew, alright?" 

What Eliot doesn't tell Hardison, what he plans on never, ever telling Hardison, is that the only reason he knew the answer to the crossword clue was TARDIS was because Hardison got that look on his face and he make that soft, low sound in the back of his throat, the one he always makes when he figures out one of the clues Eliot hasn't solved yet. And half the fucking time the answer is TARDIS.

*

A few days later, Hardison shows up with two large coffees, a muffin, and a bagel. A burst of cold air and madcap flurries enter the store with him, swirling around his shoulders before the door chimes shut.

"You choose," he tells Eliot, like it's some kind of challenge, and nods down at the take-out coffee carrier. 

Eliot shrugs. He's not actually hungry, but Hardison looks so pleased with himself for showing up with mid-morning coffee and breakfast that he snags the bagel. The coffee's definitely more welcome, but the fresh bagel and cream cheese turns out to be better than he expected.

Hardison nods and that irritatingly fond and familiar look of pride lights us his face. "I knew it." 

"You did not." Eliot tucks a few strands of hair behind his ear and takes a sip from the hot coffee. "You're making it up as you go along." 

"Oh, but I did. You always do bagels instead of muffins, especially everything bagels. And you like decaf midmorning--ah, see!" 

Eliot takes another sip of the coffee--decaf, with cream and no sugar--and he can't help the smile that twitches at the corner of his mouth. 

"It's good coffee, alright?" 

"It's _great_ coffee." Hardison picks up the blueberry muffin and breaks it half, then starts to eat it as he leans against the counter. 

"What's all this for? Aren't you supposed to be at work?" 

"I _am_." 

"No, Hardison, _I'm_ at work, and you're here. At _my_ work, being a distraction." Eliot glances around the empty shop and then back at Hardison, who's also noticed that the shop is empty aside from the two of them. 

He leans in closer to Eliot and smiles. "If I'm going to bring you breakfast, I have to show up at your shop. That's how it works, Eliot." 

"I eat breakfast at five a.m." 

"Yeah, never mind, my ass isn't bringing anyone muffins that early in the morning, not even you." 

"Not even me, huh?" 

Hardison tips his head to the side and gives Eliot an inscrutable look that ends with him glancing aside, eyelashes brushing against his cheek. 

"Maybe six a.m.," he mutters. He looks embarrassed, too, but only for a second. "Anyway, brunch then. Brunch, while my code compiles upstairs. D'you want to watch it--?" 

"No, I don't want to watch your computer think." Eliot curls his hands around his coffee cup and moves closer to Hardison anyway. He's wearing the green-grey hat and scarf that somehow manages to make him look ridiculous and soft at the same time, that makes Eliot want to lean in even closer and let his shoulder brush against Hardison's. 

Eliot supposes, maybe, he can have that, though, that small, warm need that rises up in the middle of his chest when Hardison leans in closer to him. He can have the moment when Hardison slides his phone on the counter between them and shows Eliot how he can mirror his computer's activity, even though it's the brush of Hardison's fingertips against the screen and then against Eliot's wrist that holds Eliot's attention. He can have this, the craving for warmth and the brightness of Hardison's smile when Eliot's arm presses against his as they drink their coffee together. 

Once they're done, Hardison cleans the crumbs from the counter and gives the shop another look. 

"You need help down here?" 

"Not really." Eliot gives the shop another glance, too, It's midmorning, midweek, a time when they're not usually that busy. 

"Well, make something up for me to do so I can help." 

Eliot can't help the short, sharp laugh that bursts from deep inside him. God, he's so fucking gone for the way Hardison smiles at him. So far gone that he worries he's going to end up with another feeling in his chest, something deeper and more achy. He can push that worry aside for a good, long time, though, and instead slide an arm around Hardison's shoulders after he walks around the shop counter. 

"I'm not sure I trust you with the flowers, but you can take a look at the computer system." 

"That janky old thing? You're actually letting me--" 

"Don't. Just... update it and stuff, make sure it's running the way it's supposed to." 

Hardison holds his hands up in surrender, but the look on his face is a scary combination of unmitigated glee and enthusiasm. "I'm not sure you can still update Windows 98, but..." 

"Okay, even I know you're just being an asshole now." Eliot doesn't take his arm from Hardison's shoulders, though, and leads him to the small office at the back of the shop. 

Hardison moves right into the touch with a thoughtful sound and tips his head back against Eliot's shoulder. The moment passes before Eliot can do anything about it, before he can even acknowledge how strange and new and right it felt to have Hardison that close to him, to let himself slip into that brief moment of vulnerability. 

As soon as they get to the office, though, Hardison dives toward the computer and begins to tap the keyboard. He pushes his coat off while it starts up, then pats the right side of the monitor and practically coos at the machine. 

"Aww, yeah, come to daddy... I love working with antiques, really, I do." 

"Idiot," Eliot mumbles. When Hardison glances at him over his shoulder, Eliot sighs and shakes his head, then turns away so he doesn't actually smile at Hardison again. 

Out in the shop, Eliot sorts baby's breath and fresh green stems, arranges petals and leaves, lines up pink and red and white carnations, and divides the daisies before he can think what meaning any of them have beyond the feel of them at the tips of his fingers.

*

_How do you feel about sinks?_

Eliot frowns down at his phone, reads the text over twice, and then pushes his phone aside when the door to the shop chimes. A couple customers mill around the store, look at flower arrangements, and then place orders for Valentine's Day. A few more people come in during their lunch break to place orders or to put together haphazard bouquets of winter flowers. The lunch hour passes before Eliot can get another look at his text messages and when he does, he can hear Hardison's voice in every single one of the them. 

_Okay. Maybe you don't have any particular feelings about sinks._

_I suppose that's most people, actually._

_But you might have ones about fixing them?_

_Or ones about about whatever part of your shop is below my kitchen getting dripped on..._

Eliot glances up at the ceiling and thinks, maps out the space above his store. The back room is probably the one beneath the upstairs apartment kitchen, based on how the plumbing is set up, and if the problem is small, he could probably fix it faster than the landlord could contact a plumber. So, when the store's empty, Eliot flips the sign on the door to 'Be Back in 15 Minutes,' pulls a knit hat on in lieu of a coat, and locks the shop before heading upstairs. 

"How do I feel about _sinks_?" Eliot asks as soon as Hardison answers the door. 

"Well, I thought a witty opener would get your attention. Come on in." Hardison smiles and rests a hand on Eliot's shoulder to guide him into the apartment, his touch warm and casual and already familiar. "Didn't think you'd come up during the day, though." 

"I just want to take a look and see how fast I can fix it for you." Eliot glances around the living room, at the crochet afghan tossed over the sofa, the multiple screens set up on the computer desk, and the three gaming systems in front of the television. "You are such a geek." 

"Geeks will inherit the earth." When Eliot narrows his eyes, Hardison shrugs. "I like what I like," he murmurs and his hand tightens on Eliot's shoulder. 

Which is stupid and cheesy, but the touch makes Eliot's heart swoop all over again. He half wants to rest his own hand on his chest, half wants to shove Hardison away to get the feeling to fade, but settles for a muttered 'whatever' and pushes his way toward the kitchen sink. 

"I'll shut the water off downstairs, then come fix the leak up here after I close the shop," Eliot says after spending about ten minutes poking at the sink and pipes beneath it. The fix should be easy enough as long as he brings the right tools. "I'll be back around five, five-thirty." 

"Yeah, that's alright." Hardison gives Eliot a hand up from the floor and this time stands really close to him as they lean against the kitchen counter. He's in a black tee shirt and jeans, barefoot, and even though it looks as if he hasn't shaved in a couple days, there's a clean, warm soapy scent to his skin. "What d'you want for dinner?"

"Dinner?" 

"That is the meal most people eat around five o'clock." 

"I know that. But you're--"

"--asking you over for dinner. Also a thing people do when they're into a guy." Hardison grins at the exasperation on Eliot's face. "You can say no," he says, then, with a small, uncertain frown and in a lower voice, "please don't say no." 

"Oh, I'm not saying no," Eliot murmurs and brushes the back of his knuckles against Hardison's hand. 

"You could... I don't know, say _yes_." 

"I could." The shrug Eliot gives coaxes a quick, bright laugh from Hardison and he walks away from Eliot, all uncertainty gone from his expression. Eliot rolls the sleeves to his flannel back down and buttons the cuffs, walking back to the door of Hardison's place. "Pizza," he says before he leaves. "Get pizza." 

"The most romantic dinner choice." Hardison catches Eliot's hand, though, and rubs his thumb over Eliot's palm in a warm, firm circle. 

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of anticipation and middle-school sweetheart dance flower orders. By the end, Eliot's tired and excited, and he's pretty sure both show on his face when he shows up at Hardison's again around five-thirty. 

"Sorry I didn't dress up," he says. "But I'm here to have feelings about a kitchen sink." 

"I don't know, hot fix-it guy's not a bad look on you." Hardison ushers Eliot into the apartment with an arm around his waist this time, and pulls him a little closer once they're inside. "Hey..." 

"Hey, you." Eliot leans into Hardison, feels his own brand of uncertainty flicker up in his chest over the hug, then gives a little grateful nod when Hardison rubs his back. 

"Sink first?" Hardison asks. 

"Right, let me get that out of the way." For some reason, the short exchange makes it so much easier for Eliot to ease into the way Hardison keeps his arm around Eliot, to nod when Hardison asks if the shop was busy and if he had a long afternoon. 

It's the easiest thing, too, to pull his flannel off in the kitchen, to tug his hair back off his face, to put his glasses on and get under the sink while Hardison hovers next to him. He keeps handing Eliot the wrong tools and finally just lets Eliot position the flashlight himself, but he stays close to Eliot, and does this ridiculous thing where he pats Eliot's leg each time Eliot curses at the plumbing. 

"Okay, you should be alright now," Eliot says, tightening up the fittings, and giving a sigh of satisfied relief before he gets himself out of the tiny, cramped spot. As he tugs his tee shirt back down over his stomach when it rode up, he catches the quiet sound of disappointment from Hardison. 

"You have some very fine... tattoos," Hardison says, catching himself when Eliot smirks, then looks away to rub a hand over his face. 

"Yeah, I do. I'll show you them later. After I turn the water back on and clean up a little." Eliot takes the hand up Hardison offers him; he stretches his back and shoulders, then makes a soft sound of surprise when Hardison's hands rest on his shoulders to rub them for him. 

"Go on. Go get cleaned up, so we can get to the fun part of the evening." Hardison leans in to rest his cheek against Eliot's shoulder, his body close and warm, and his hands slide from Eliot's shoulders to his waist. 

When Eliot glances over his shoulder, Hardison catches his gaze and holds it, challenge in his eyes again, then gives Eliot a nudge. 

And as much as Eliot wants to lean in and kiss Hardison right then and there, to crush his mouth against Hardison's with fast-murmured eager promises, well, he knows that a few more minutes' wait will only make that kiss all the better. So Eliot goes to turn the water back on and to clean himself up, to look at himself in the mirror and tuck a few errant strands of hair behind his ear and figure, sure, he can wait a little longer, he can wait as long as Hardison needs. 

Which only turns out to be half an action movie's worth of pizza and beer, because once the fight scene on the tv screen ends, Hardison slips his arm around Eliot's shoulders and gives him a slow, warm look. 

The moment between them fades into a couple light touches and a kiss so quick and light that Eliot's not particularly sure it actually counts as a kiss. 

The second one, though? That's a _kiss_. All lips and tongue and Hardison sighing right into his mouth, not soft but needy, and he kisses Eliot like he's needed this his whole life, like he needs it more than anything else he needs right now. When Eliot pulls away, Hardison only leans in closer, kisses him harder, sighs desperate and ragged against Eliot's mouth when the kiss finally ends. 

Eliot touches the side of Hardison's face to map the rise of his cheekbones, to brush his thumb over Hardison's lower lip and feel the rise and fall of his breath.

"Does this count as a good first date? It's been a while for me," Eliot admits. He strokes the side of Hardison's face again and lets his eyes drop closed when Hardison leans in to kiss him again. 

"A very good first date." Another kiss, and then another, and the rest of the movie plays out in the background.

*

"How did you end up living above a florist?" Eliot murmurs, then shifts on the bed when Hardison does, and presses a kiss to his forehead.

He's got Hardison sprawled out on top of him, lazy and relaxed, amidst the rumpled sheets and blankets of his bed; it's late enough in the evening that Eliot could probably doze off beneath the weight of him. They've had the longest, slowest, laziest late-afternoon sex, all kissing and touching, mapping out each other's bodies with warm touches. Eliot stretches and yawns at the memory of his hands all over Hardison's body, of how he got to kiss Hardison over and over before he came for Eliot. 

Hardison makes a thoughtful sound. "I think the more interesting question is how you became the florist I live above. Look at you..." He skims his fingertips over Eliot's bare chest, then etches the side of his thumb over the tattooed flowers that cascade over Eliot's shoulder to his chest and down to his hip bone. "You look like you beat people up for a living." 

"Army," Eliot says, knowing if he hesitates he'll never get around to talking about this. "Two tours in Iraq, figured I couldn't do that my whole life, and instead of going to college, I opened up the shop. I just wanted something... something of my own." 

"I feel like there's a lot more between those lines, but alright, I get it. I'm dating a florist who just likes to work out a lot and who can fix all the broken shit." Hardison shifts again, sitting up, and then rests his head against Eliot's shoulder when he sits up, too. "I tried college." 

"Didn't work out?" 

Hardison shrugs. "I was working a couple jobs, helping my Nana out, making sure she had enough for the kids. Family comes first, and it was easier to get another job than go to class most days, so." 

"Sure, that's rough. You did alright though." Eliot tightens his arm around Hardison, then holds him closer before he can tell himself not to. "You taught yourself to fix shit on your own with no help." 

Hardison nods against Eliot's shoulder. "Taught myself to code with the best of them, that's right. Tried the office thing, too, but that didn't really work for me, so I freelance for small start-ups." 

"You really did alright," Eliot says again. He presses his lips to Hardison's forehead with another soft, slow kiss and feels more than hears Hardison's sigh. "I saw you working in the shop, you're amazing. I should let you fix things for me more often." 

"I'd have to be to get that thing to work again." A laugh rumbles against Eliot's shoulder and Hardison leans in to start nuzzling kisses against Eliot's neck. "You still getting up at the ass-crack of dawn tomorrow?" 

"Mhmm... One of us has to be the money-maker in this relationship." Eliot tips his head to the side to get Hardison to keep on kissing him like that, and makes a noise of approval when Hardison strokes his hair back off his neck too. 

"Alright, then." His fingers find the ivy and petals that twist over Eliot's rib cage and his lips the spot right behind the corner of Eliot's jaw that he already seems so fond of. "Let's get you to bed early." 

Sometime after ten o'clock, Eliot wakes up to find Hardison still next to him in bed, still awake, fingertips tapping quietly against the muted light of his tablet. A thoughtful frown hovesr on his face, then eases into a smile when notices Eliot's awake. 

"Go back to sleep..." 

Eliot makes a rough, tired sound of agreement in reply. He wants to say that this is nice, to wake up warm and fuzzy-headed and to want nothing more than to wrap himself up protectively around Hardison. To move in closer to him on the bed and to slide his arm around Hardison is enough, though.

*

At 7:36 pm on February 14th, Eliot finally slips the sign on the door of his small corner shop to closed. If he stayed open longer, he'd probably get a few more customers, but he's had good enough business today that the store looks pretty empty. A few leaves and petals scatter the floor and when he lowers the blinds, even the window displays look a little sparse.

Tomorrow morning, he'll clean the shop and put up new displays, marvel at how he can feel spring approaching beneath his fingertips as he does so. He loves this, too, the moment after the rush, when the day's over and he's helped people put together gifts for partners and friends and family members. Any other year, he'd sweep the shop and review his paperwork, maybe go for a run if the streets aren't too crowded with ice and slush. 

This year, tonight, he has plans. He'd not going to the gym and he's not going to flip through paperwork. He'd not going to think about how the best thing about Valentine's Day is the respite from the emptiness of the grey, cold winter afternoons. 

"You're still here?" Eliot murmurs as he wraps his arms around Hardison and leans in to kiss the back of his shoulder. "You didn't need to stay, you know. Especially after I banished you from trying floral arrangement." 

"People bought the stuff I put together. You saw them buy my flowers." Hardison looks over his shoulder at Eliot with a look of serious pride on his face. 

"Desperate people, Hardison, that's who bought them. Desperate people and that guy who trusted you because you made a Star Trek reference." 

"You got your customer base, I got mine. And I got to work the old-timey cash register." Hardison laughs when Eliot hugs him almost painfully tight, then murmurs a low 'that's alright' when Eliot kisses the back of his neck and shoulder once more. 

"Good. Supposed to be..." Eliot buries his face in the sweater Hardison's wearing to breath in that warm, clean, soapy smell, mixed with the cooler scent of fresh stems and flowers. "Get your coat and scarf so I can take you out for dinner." 

"For real? Are you taking me someplace fancy?" Hardison asks. "Flowers and wine and all that?" 

"For real. And anywhere you like. You want tacos?" 

"Valentine's Day tacos. That might be even less romantic than pizza." 

"Don't lie, I know what you like." 

Hardison gives another laugh and nestles himself back against Eliot, into the kisses and the way Eliot holds him close. They stand in the quiet, empty shop for a little while longer, a quiet murmured conversation between them and between kisses, until Hardison turns to face Eliot. 

"Yeah, let's go get dinner." Hardison leans in to give Eliot a quick kiss, then a lingering one, and makes another pleased sound. 

"Wait--hold on--" Eliot pulls away from Hardison to grab all the errant, leftover flowers and to tie them into a haphazard bouquet. There's too much baby's breath and stephanotis, and the roses and carnations are mismatched between the reds and yellows and purples, but when Eliot ties them together, the bouquet is a burst of bright warmth. 

"C'mon, Eliot, let's get tacos and maybe something fancy for dessert so we can do at least one of the Valentine's date cliches." Hardison pauses. "Or that. That's doing the cliche thing," he says when Eliot offers him the flowers. 

"There. For my guy. I heard it's a thing you do on Valentine's Day." 

Hardison takes the flowers and only puts them aside when Eliot helps him into his heavy winter coat; he gathers them back up again when they walk outside into the cold, clear evening. 

"You want to come back here after dinner? Or walk over to your place?" Hardison asks as Eliot locks up the shop. "I'm pretty sure the best taqueria is halfway between either place."

Eliot checks the locks once more before he pockets his keys and puts an arm around Hardison's waist. Neither of them are dressed for anywhere fancy and Eliot's more than a little grateful for that. He starts thinking about dinner and drinks, and about how he can kiss Hardison at the back of the small, dark restaurant, then about how he can take Hardison home afterwards and also take very, very good care of him. 

"Why, you got something else broken up there you need to me fix for you?" 

Hardison looks at the flowers and back at the closed flower shop, looks at Eliot and looks at the way Eliot's hand rests against his cheek. The smile that forms on his face is slow and careful, then certain before he shakes his head. 

"No, not anymore."


End file.
